"A Deficiency"
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Join Date: Aug 2016
Posts: 76
"A Deficiency"
So I was going through some of my journals and found a poem I'd written way back in 2007... This was around the time my drinking was getting really ugly. I used to wake up in the morning with battle scars and bruises from a crazy night of binging -- that's basically what the poem's about.
I thought I'd share it on here; maybe it will resonate with someone.
"A Deficiency"
Two dainty wrists and sharp, boney elbows;
A set of strong shins and twin knobby knees;
Feel each tender part bruised blue-black and soft.
Bump a desk here; a table trips me there --
The thud of an arm echoes against a bookshelf.
These lonely limbs have made plans of their own.
A hand that cramps from frequent use (abuse?);
Five fingers that flex against joints that move
With the elegant ease that is freedom.
The heart cries out as it prays for a change --
Weeps for the reign of my tyrant-like mind,
Dictating the soul -- silencing it's voice.
The tongue catches in the throat as it clams
Tight with despair, and heavy eyelids droop
To stop a surge of salty tears as they flow
Down each cheek, sizzling against hot shame.
My bruised wrists and elbows, my shins and knees:
Shadows of the soul trying to escape.
I thought I'd share it on here; maybe it will resonate with someone.
"A Deficiency"
Two dainty wrists and sharp, boney elbows;
A set of strong shins and twin knobby knees;
Feel each tender part bruised blue-black and soft.
Bump a desk here; a table trips me there --
The thud of an arm echoes against a bookshelf.
These lonely limbs have made plans of their own.
A hand that cramps from frequent use (abuse?);
Five fingers that flex against joints that move
With the elegant ease that is freedom.
The heart cries out as it prays for a change --
Weeps for the reign of my tyrant-like mind,
Dictating the soul -- silencing it's voice.
The tongue catches in the throat as it clams
Tight with despair, and heavy eyelids droop
To stop a surge of salty tears as they flow
Down each cheek, sizzling against hot shame.
My bruised wrists and elbows, my shins and knees:
Shadows of the soul trying to escape.
Member
Join Date: Feb 2016
Posts: 2,654
You have a wonderful way with words. Your poem was emotionally descriptive and so sad. Yes, it resonates with me - waking to unexplained bruises and the utter despair of the soul, when viewing them.
I don't know what stage you're at presently, but I do hope you're OK.
I don't know what stage you're at presently, but I do hope you're OK.
Member
Join Date: Jun 2011
Location: here, now.
Posts: 1,236
Originally Posted by kgr103110 
So I was going through some of my journals and found a poem I'd written way back in 2007... This was around the time my drinking was getting really ugly. I used to wake up in the morning with battle scars and bruises from a crazy night of binging -- that's basically what the poem's about.
I thought I'd share it on here; maybe it will resonate with someone.
"A Deficiency"
Two dainty wrists and sharp, boney elbows;
A set of strong shins and twin knobby knees;
Feel each tender part bruised blue-black and soft.
Bump a desk here; a table trips me there --
The thud of an arm echoes against a bookshelf.
These lonely limbs have made plans of their own.
A hand that cramps from frequent use (abuse?);
Five fingers that flex against joints that move
With the elegant ease that is freedom.
The heart cries out as it prays for a change --
Weeps for the reign of my tyrant-like mind,
Dictating the soul -- silencing it's voice.
The tongue catches in the throat as it clams
Tight with despair, and heavy eyelids droop
To stop a surge of salty tears as they flow
Down each cheek, sizzling against hot shame.
My bruised wrists and elbows, my shins and knees:
Shadows of the soul trying to escape.
I thought I'd share it on here; maybe it will resonate with someone.
"A Deficiency"
Two dainty wrists and sharp, boney elbows;
A set of strong shins and twin knobby knees;
Feel each tender part bruised blue-black and soft.
Bump a desk here; a table trips me there --
The thud of an arm echoes against a bookshelf.
These lonely limbs have made plans of their own.
A hand that cramps from frequent use (abuse?);
Five fingers that flex against joints that move
With the elegant ease that is freedom.
The heart cries out as it prays for a change --
Weeps for the reign of my tyrant-like mind,
Dictating the soul -- silencing it's voice.
The tongue catches in the throat as it clams
Tight with despair, and heavy eyelids droop
To stop a surge of salty tears as they flow
Down each cheek, sizzling against hot shame.
My bruised wrists and elbows, my shins and knees:
Shadows of the soul trying to escape.
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